


cuckoo

by DairyFarmer



Category: Batman (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Robin (Comics)
Genre: Batdad, Batfamily (DCU), Bruce Wayne Tries, Bruce Wayne is Tim Drake's Biological Parent, Extramarital Affairs, F/M, Gen, Implied mental illness, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Mental Health Issues, Other, Tax evasion, Tim Drake-centric, Tim's dad doesn't file taxes because I think that's just what I imagined all rich people do, Untreated Mental Illness, despite the tags this is a lightish comedy i just dont have the skill for angst, inspired by another fic, inspired by tumblr fic, jason todd is the only one having a good time, tim loves his parents, well implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:41:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24731782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DairyFarmer/pseuds/DairyFarmer
Summary: But the real cincher had been an old newspaper article Tim found while researching at the Gotham Public Library (he was supposed to be playing at the park across the street but Tim would rather die than-). It had been about the death of Martha and Thomas Wayne with a blown up photo of eight year old Bruce at their funeral.From there all Tim had to do was look in a mirror.The same chubby cheeks and button nose. The same slant of their eyes and cupid’s bow. All Tim had to do was part his hair to the side and gel it back to a neat style and they could be twins.Or father and son.XxXOr in which Tim is the result of an affair and is kind of semi okay. The same cannot be said for everyone else.
Relationships: Jack Drake & Janet Drake & Tim Drake, Jack Drake & Tim Drake, Jack Drake/Janet Drake, Janet Drake/Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 22
Kudos: 554





	cuckoo

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Bruce Bio!Dad AU](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/645943) by Lynn Reads and Writes. 
  * Inspired by [Bloodlines](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22117774) by [chibi_nightowl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibi_nightowl/pseuds/chibi_nightowl). 
  * Inspired by [ties that bind](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26886490) by [bittlebarnes (monroesherlock)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/monroesherlock/pseuds/bittlebarnes). 



> insprired by the amazing fics above but especially by the bruce bio!dad au, make sure to check their full fic out (ties that bind)!!
> 
> the cuckoo bird is actually really unique it lays its eggs in the nests of other birds so they take care of their young for them. thats bruce in this fic. laying his eggs in other people's nests/wives lmao  
> XxX  
> 

The Gotham City society magazines were on another level. Vicky Vale herself deserved her own chapter in Tim’s list of grievances about them. 

Still, there was an underlying touch of respect he had for them. When it came to getting the people of Gotham talking about something, their skills were bar none. 

Even if Tim had to take an Advil just to make it through one of their ‘breaking news’ specials.

Which was all the local networks had been running the week leading up to Friday. There were radio announcements, commercials, _twitter hashtags_. It was everything they’d been doing since their inception cranked up to a ten. 

Now when it came to reliable information, tabloids definitely ranked at the bottom of the list. Gotham’s tabloids ranked even lower. They were the magazines you’d buy from a news kiosk as a joke. Headlines like _‘Batman and Man-Bat: Forbidden Lovers’_ and _‘I Married Killer Kroc?’_ were the height of their integrity. It just so happened that both of them were issues Tim had actually purchased and framed somewhere in his apartment. 

But that still didn’t attach any legitimacy to their claims. 

Something neither Bruce nor Tim’s PR team seemed to understand. 

Which was the only reason that Tim was tucked in his apartment with soda and a bag of doritos instead of out patrolling (well that and his broken ankle courtesy of Poison Ivy).

As the newly minted CEO of Wayne Enterprises, Tim couldn’t have a bad rep with the public. Getting drunk at a Gala, falling into a fountain, and popping up as part of the laugh reel for Good Morning Gotham as Brucie was known to do was one thing. But getting an entire _exposé_ dedicated to you with billboards about it posted around the turnpike exit to Gotham?

A whole other ballpark.

Though Tim could see why Bruce was insisting on Tim staying in while PR started preparing for any number of scandals surrounding Tim, made up or real. Tim could also probably understand why Tam, his secretary, and other assistants were buckling in like they were preparing for the worst.

Afterall, the last Gothamite to get an evening news special about them and a resulting questioning of their character was Harvey Dent turned Two-Face. Tim wasn’t old enough to remember the exact fallout of that but he did know that it ended with town hall lighting on fire, a bank getting robbed, and Harvey getting officially disbarred. The entire special was on youtube somewhere.

Tim skimmed it once and all he saw was Harvey underage drinking at college and befriending some pot dealers that also happened to be business majors. None of which were things that Tim would ever condemn someone for. It’d make him a hypocrite for one.

But the fact remained that someone out there thought they had dirt on Tim Drake, enough of it that they were pulling out all the stops. That was cause for concern apparently.

Especially since all of Tim’s highschool friends have all summarily referred to him as a ‘dork’ at one point or another. So had his family but that was besides the point.

“Good evening!” 

The evening news’ anchorwoman was wide and bug-eyed like Titus when it was rib-eyed steaks for dinner. Excited. Geez.

Tim always knew reporters and journalists were just bloodthirsty mosquitoes (Tim sent a mental apology to Clark Kent, Lois Lance, Iris Allen, and basically every other literature and journalism major he knew) but you’d think they’d be desensitized to their job. Maybe it was the thrill of knowing you were about to shake someone’s entire life in just a few well placed words. Then again If all the trending tweets were to be believed it was because the special program supposedly had _insider information_. Which was code for someone close to the “source” got bought to say some shit. Tim’s ridden through the waves of enough Gotham Society drama to know that.

So realistically it could be any teacher, classmate, or nanny that Tim’s ever had. Well the list would stretch around the block for that one given the revolving door of caretakers Tim had from the time he was in diapers to the time he got braces. Not even mentioning the sheer amount of boarding schools he’d been in from the time he was old enough to even go. But Tim liked to think all his old roommates that could’ve possibly been bought off had all at least liked him at some form. Sure he wasn’t the most sociable and more than once he’d been the reason for a ‘spontaneous room search’ for contraband because he had a terrible addiction to Zesti Cola and gummy worms.

But it’s not like those ever amounted to much because Tim was _smart_. He hid all his shit in a false bottom in his sports bag and the stuffing of his pillow. But it’s not like boyhood stories from his time at private school was enough to have reporters and journalists salivating. Tim actually used to be a remarkably well behaved child, despite what his family may think.

His parents forked over a lot of money for him to be able to get his shit rocked during no-contact football and to figure out how to play croquet. And damn if he would have raised a fuss about it.

As for all the shady stuff Tim pulled in his later teens- well that was up for debate. Tim had gone to a handful of parties when he’d been in highschool where he may or may not have purposefully consumed the spiked punch and he’d bought weed once out of curiosity. Of course he bought it from Jason who definitely overcharged him and who immediately tattled on him to Bruce- but still, all the same.

From what the radio host on his morning drive to W.E said, they were making it sound like Tim was some kind of depraved little _creep_ or something. Like he was a career peeping tom or that he punched babies in the NICU on the weekend.

Or at least that’s what the look in the anchor woman's eye seemed to say.

“Tonight we bring you a story which has _shocked_ our best investigators-” She began, smiling widely, red lipstick highlighting the whites of her teeth and pinks of her gums.

Huh, maybe Tim should consider getting _his_ teeth whitened. Also _investigators_ ? Hah, sure. If _that’s_ what they wanted to call themselves.

Tim popped the tab on a can of soda.

“Timothy Jackson Drake is one of the most well known young men in Gotham high society-”

Tim carefully ripped open a bag of nacho doritos, nudging the cool ranch bag with his red leg cast resting on the coffee table. 

“-Son of the late Jack and Janet-Lynn Drake, information has newly come to light concerning his parentage-”

Tim’s hand froze inside the bag, fingers clenched around an orange chip. 

“-Adopted by billionaire and former CEO, Bruce Wayne, Timothy later petitioned for emancipation at the age of sixteen-”

What. What did she just say?

“-A fact that is not surprising once one considers-”

Oh. 

“-that Bruce Wayne-”

_Oh no._

“-is in fact Timothy Drake’s biological father.”

XxX

So the thing about Tim is that he’d _always_ been a bit of a detective. From baby bottle to sippy cups he’d been one, through and through.

His favorite childhood toys were a pair of binoculars and a magnifying glass (which he lost to his third nanny after he nearly set the drapery on fire with it during a particularly heated game of CLUE). His fifth birthday present had been a lifetime subscription to the Sherlock Holmes Society Newsletter (which he still received in the mail monthly). 

Tim taught himself how to read using Agatha Christie novels and PBS shows because Tim _loved_ mysteries.

Tim loved mysteries more than he loved breathing.

So it made sense that he managed to figure out one of the most glaringly obvious and poorly concealed secrets fairly quickly. If it could really be called that and not just _‘this is something we ignore’_. Like how Tim would ignore the green peppers on his plate at dinner or his father would ignore tax season.

The reason why the Drakes never RSVPd to one of Bruce Wayne’s yearly garden parties despite being neighbors.

Why they never donated to the same charities despite the prestige it would carry to be among the old money families.

Why Tim was absolutely positively never to attend or associate with students or teachers of Gotham Academy or Roxbury Fielding despite their immaculate records.

Tim didn’t have to abide by many rules so the ones he did, he paid extra attention to. 

Rules like never crossing the property divide. Never playing with the neighbor’s children, or rather _child_ at the time.

All those house rules and silently accepted realities shared one common factor.

Bruce Wayne. 

A pattern is a pattern no matter how you spin it. Sideways or upside down, Tim’s parents did not want to interact with Bruce Wayne.

It took a hot second to figure out why. 

Jack Drake had been an athlete in his youth. Tim had mild asthma. 

Jack Drake and Tim’s grandparents all had brown eyes. Tim had blue.

From there it was just a matter of collecting the supporting evidence. Drawing out punnett squares, plotting out the date of when he was conceived and running it alongside the dates his father traveled for work and when Bruce Wayne was home from his famous ‘vacations’. 

Then all the smaller things started piling up too.

The clinic of the pediatrician Tim visited was out of town because Wayne Enterprises funded all the hospitals and clinics in Gotham. Tim was never brought to merger events because seven times out of ten Bruce Wayne would attend. Tim had a different nanny every year of his life since he’d been born because then no one other than his parents would know what he looked like as he grew up.

But the real cincher had been an old newspaper article Tim found while researching at the Gotham Public Library (he was supposed to be playing at the park across the street but Tim would rather die than-). It had been about the death of Martha and Thomas Wayne with a blown up photo of eight year old Bruce at their funeral. 

From there all Tim had to do was look in a mirror. 

The same chubby cheeks and button nose. The same slant of their eyes and cupid’s bow. All Tim had to do was part his hair to the side and gel it back to a neat style and they could be twins.

Or father and son.

Needless to say Tim’s feelings towards that became complicated. They became even more complicated when the very next year he witnessed a quadruple somersault on the news and the tentative ‘father’ association in his mind was replaced by ‘Batman’.

Batman. 

Bruce Wayne was _Batman_. Somehow that had been easier to swallow than the alternative.

XxX

Tim didn't stay in his apartment long enough to watch the rest of the exposé on himself. He grabbed his crutches, his keys, and his half finished bag of doritos and left. He didn’t even bother with his phone which was already beeping with a stream of messages and calls.

Most likely from PR but also equally as likely from the rest of his family and friends that probably tuned in to the Gotham News Network to watch him get his ass read to filth (which was fair, Tim would do the same to any of them).

At worst Tim thought that a nosy reporter would’ve found his secret instagram page about ‘The Rats of Gotham’ where he posted photos of mobsters, politicians, his least favorite cops, and occasionally himself.

This was much more than he’d prepared himself to deal with. 

Despite hobbling with a broken ankle, Tim still managed to make his way down to his parking garage and into his car. 

The mansion was out of the question. 

So was Jason’s place, Barb’s place, Steph’s, and Duke’s.

Kon, Bart, and Cassie were all in San Francisco.

Cass was in Hong Kong.

Bernard was at a pussy appointment until the next morning.

Batwoman and him didn’t have that kind of relationship.

Neither did any of the Birds of Prey.

Which left Tim with one road available.

XxX

It honestly was a testament of friendship that Tim could go radio silent for months while looking for Bruce, come back with no explanation and a few sporadic texts and Ives would still open his door for Tim.

The other boy practically half carried Tim up to his room after opening his front door to his knocks, brushing away his parents with vague responses. 

Tim was resting his cast on a beanbag chair as Ives tugged out the deflated air mattress Tim always used when they had sleepovers sophomore year.

So emotionally intuitive the other boy was. Then again, statistically, Tim supposed that someone in his life had to be.

Ives started pumping air into the milkshake stained suede mattress before saying anything.

“So…how you been?”

Tim paused for a moment.

“I’ve been better.” Tim offered. He really has.

Ives’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline, his thin lips pursed slightly in what might be shock.

“Tim. Bro.” Ives began slowly, dark eyes gazing at him deeply. “You’re trending number one _and_ two on twitter right now.”

Tim winced slightly, nose wrinkling.

“They got your yearbook photos circling.”

“How’d they get those so quickly?” Tim asked, brows raised slightly. Gothamites were like piranhas everyone knew that- but Tim still didn’t expect them to act so quick. The special hadn’t even been on for twenty minutes given the ten minutes it took to get to Ives’s house and the five it took to get to his car.

“Old classmates.” Ives shrugged. “You know you’ve been to like twenty different schools right? There’s pics of you circulating from goddamn _middle school_.”

“Oh. Ew.” Tim grimaced. 

Bristol middle school had been _brutal_. It had been pre-laser eye surgery and post-orthodontist which meant it was Tim with thick rimmed glasses and braces looking all the world like the kid you were supposed to shove into a locker. 

He was and he did.

God, Tim missed those days. Life had been so much simpler back then.

Ives seemed to be of the same opinion given the look on his face as he stared down at his phone streaming the GNN special. 

“Is it bad?” Tim couldn’t help but ask. It was. It so clearly was.

This wasn’t something you just brushed under the rug and shrugged off.

Tim knew that.

His parents definitely knew that. Why else would they go through all the effort of keeping it all under wraps?

But it was more than just a scandal to them. Tim could see that clear as day.

Jack Drake had been in the perfect position for corporate blackmail. He could’ve dragged both Janet and Bruce through a fucking meat grinder if he’d wanted to. Could’ve devastated them both and tanked W.E’s stocks with enough bad press, forced Bruce to step down as head of his company.

But he hadn’t.

That,Tim hadn’t understood for the longest time.

It wasn’t as though his dad hadn’t had it in him. Jack could be as vicious as any businessman in Gotham. He could’ve grown Drake Industries to rival Wayne enterprises if he’d wanted to. 

Instead he’d contented himself in remaining within the niche he carved out during the dot com boom. He traveled the world with his wife, living a dream of a life (until it disappeared).

In that time he’d never, not once, made Tim feel like he didn’t love him or want him (doubt it, maybe for a moment in the way all dramatic teenagers did. But never actually _believe_ it).

Jack Drake was an awkward man, a lot like Tim was. His affection came in the form of settling Tim on his knee when he was a toddler and slowly explaining the cultural significance and history behind his most newly acquired piece. He talked to Tim like he was an adult capable of understanding, like he was one of his anthropological colleagues. It wasn’t until much later that Tim actually began getting a chance to get to know his dad the way all sons do. 

Tim’s mom was...tricky. Oh, she loved him too for sure.

But the person Janet was walking out the door wasn’t always the same one coming back in.

Tim could remember being elementary school age, waking up early in the summer, going downstairs and watching Scooby-Doo while curled in his mother’s lap. Both of them in their pajamas, Janet’s long blonde hair in a loose braid over her shoulder, tickling Tim’s sensitive nose. Some times were like that with her, slow and relaxing, almost sedated. Other times it was like she was hooked up to the energizer bunny.

Wanting to take Tim to the zoo, the park, museum, and shopping all in the same day and all at the same time. Plying Tim with cotton candy, soda, and ice cream until he felt like he would explode. It was like she was saving all her effort, letting it build up and then unleashing it on poor, innocent Tim.

If Tim so much as gave anything a lingering look she’d already be at the cash register trying to buy it. Clothes, shoes, toys, video games, electronics. It’d been how he’d gotten his first skateboard. Bright green with purple wheels, he hadn’t even known how to ride one until he taught himself after his parents boarded a flight to Beijing. 

It was nice having his mother’s attention in the moments that he got it. But it was like trying to hold onto water. 

Janet either bee-lined to him, or she didn’t. 

He either saw her in the months when she and his Dad returned or he didn’t. 

The two of them were gone almost six months out of the year and he didn’t always get to see her the six months of the year they weren’t.

But they’d loved him. In their distant way. They’d tried to care for him even if it felt like they were stumbling trying to figure out. Even if it took him a while to see that.

Now strangers from all over Gotham were weighing in on it. Pushing judgments, making assumptions. Drawing conclusions from Tim’s school records, hobbies, his friends, his _life_.

What were they calling his mother? A slut. A floozy. A whore.

His father? Stupid. Blind. Ignorant.

Jack and Janet had been none of those things. 

Gotham didn’t know shit.

XxX

The next week in Gotham is hell. 

Tim is honestly amazed at just how much the news can milk this story. 

The Annual Business & Technology Fair in Metropolis was coming up in a few short weeks and all anyone wanted to talk about was Tim. 

How was he feeling?

What was he thinking?

Did he know?

All coincidentally of which were the exact same questions his friends and family had for him.

Not that he’d responded to any of them. Plus it wasn’t as if he was avoiding anyone (even though he ordered the secretaries on the ground floor to warn him if they saw any member of his family enter the building) it was just a matter of _priority_.

“Tim.”

Tim’s fingers froze over his keyboard, hands poised to write an email.

“Tim.” 

Tim inched his head up, brows furrowed as he stared up at Batman looming in front of his desk.

 _Fuck_.

This is what he gets for not finishing installing those rooftop sensors. 

Tim pursed his lips, mouth suddenly dry as he pushed himself away from the desk, eyes keeping steady on where Batman stared down at him.

“Batman.” He began slowly, hands pressed solidly against his desk so he didn’t accidentally do something stupid like _call security_. “What can I help you with?”

Bruce stared at him.

Tim’s smile strained, expression slightly pinched as he tapped lightly against the wood under his palm.

“You,” Bruce began, voice sounding thick like he was trying to shape his mouth with the words,“haven’t been answering your messages.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.” Tim replied, hands tensed in front of him because this wasn’t a confrontation. It didn’t have the same _flavour_ , the same air. This was-

Bruce shifted in front of him, jaw tensed as he stared at him. The cowl did a good job of hiding his expression.

“Come home.”

“I’m afraid I have quite the schedule this coming week. Please schedule an appointment with my secretary if you wish to discuss something further.”

Bruce’s fists clenched at his side. 

“Dinner. Tonight.”

“I’m afraid-”

“ _Tim_.”

Tim’s mouth snapped shut. Bruce was staring at him, the white eyes of his cowl trying to convey something that Tim couldn’t quite read. 

Tim’s computer pinged with the arrival of another email. Probably PR again, maybe even HR with updates on how they were dealing with the news crews parked in the employee lot.

Tim let his shoulders slump slightly, head hanging down and sending an ache through his neck.

“I’ll try to be there.”

Bruce nodded, head stiff as he stared down at Tim a moment longer. 

By the time Tim raised his head back up, he was gone.

XxX

When Tim arrived, the atmosphere at the manor was the most awkward it had ever been. Even more so than the first family dinner they had together after Damian and Jason both tried to kill him and the entire clan thought he was crazy for disappearing off the face of the Earth for almost a full year.

Somehow it managed to be worse.

Maybe it had to do with the fact that Jason was sitting across from Tim with an air of eager anticipation like he was expecting Tim to go full friday night smackdown on Bruce. Based on the careful looks of concern Dick kept shooting him, that seemed to be a fairly common assessment among the family.

But if there was one thing that Tim was full of, it was disappointment. Be it for himself or others so whatever secret camera Jason probably had set up somewhere in the room was just going to be a waste of a battery. That is if Alfred didn’t find it first. 

Dinner proceeded quietly for the most part, quiet murmurs of conversation scattering the room as Tim poured gravy over his mashed potatoes. So far no one had brought up Tim’s total radio silence on all of them. Even better was that Bruce hadn’t said shit the entire meal. Though apparently not without prodding given the purposeful brushes Alfred kept giving him everytime he went to refill his untouched water cup another drop.

Which was totally fine with Tim.

He’d be fully content if none of them ever discussed anything ever again.

“Brother, pass the potage.”

Conversation around the room immediately died.

Tim froze, back tensing from where he was reaching for his milk glass. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Bruce tensing, muscles frozen in place like someone pressed ‘pause’ on his entire body.

“Brother, did you not hear me? Pass the potage.” Damian repeated, small face scrunched in displeasure as he stared at Tim.

“ _Wow_ .” Tim breathed before he could stop himself. “ _No_. No more of that, Jesus. Why would you think we were there yet?”

Damian’s face immediately twisted into confusion.

“Wha-”

“Yeah no, we’re sticking with _‘Drake’_ like we always have been. Don’t go making it weird Claudius.”

Tim slowly inched the serving bowl in the other boy’s direction, attention quickly returning to emptying his own plate and then bailing before desert.

“Tim-” Dick began, mouth opening and closing like a confused fish.

“Oh yeah none of that ‘be nice’ bullshit outta you either.” Tim immediately interjected, pointing his fork at a bemused Dick. “And none of you better try to say shit about this.” Tim continued, refocusing his attention on Jason who raised his arms up in surrender, face the picture of innocence.

Tim narrowed his eyes before slowly lowering his utensil.

The entire time, Bruce had remained remarkably silent. A feat, given that the man was never truly able to let an argument run without slipping in his own opinion.

Tim sighed, shifting and letting his heavy cast swing under his chair. God could there be a worse time to be injured? It was like he was locked down to the table in a ball and chain, trying to tiptoe through a minefield of his family’s emotions. 

He never had to be like this with his parents, not even his mom when she was in one of her _moods_ and every little thing set her off.

“Look.” Tim began slowly, eyes down on his plate where the gravy had collected into a little well. “In a few weeks this’ll all blow over. PR will run the usual spiel about the family needing some time and requesting privacy. I’ll settle the board and shareholders-”

“Tim-” Bruce tried to interject.

“-And we’ll never speak about this again.”

Unmentioned. That’s what this was always supposed to be. Sure there’d been times where Tim sometimes wondered if Bruce had known. Questioning his little moments of tenderness to Tim, his motions of affection. 

When he looked up and met the clouded look in Bruce’s eye.

It became clear as day that the other man had never had a clue.

_Oh shittt._

Damian’s chair made a scraping sound as he leant on the table to glare down the length of it at Tim.

“You are _renouncing_ our father?” 

The tone of his voice made it clear that the other boy thought Tim was making a serious slight.

Oh goddamn it.

“I’m emancipated, Damian.” Tim began slowly, trying to ignore the sound of gold cufflinks scraping against the tablecloth from where Bruce was sitting. “No one is my father.”

“ _Ooof_ that’s gotta sting.” Jason crowed, far too comfortable in his seat across from Tim, spoon raised to his mouth like a microphone. He turned his body to face Bruce who was shifting uncomfortably in his chair, metal pointed at him like a reporter trying to get an exclusive. “Does billionaire Bruce Wayne and literal mother-fucker have anything to say in response?”

They should really be feeding Jason in the same place they feed Titus, of course he’d try to pour gasoline on this campfire.

“Master Jason!” Alfred interjected, standing behind Bruce who looked the closest thing to sick that Tim had ever seen him. Despite what the others may think about Bruce and subsequently Batman being a pair of the most stone cold bitches the world had to offer. Tim had worked alongside him long enough to recognize a pattern of behavior he’d recognize anywhere in the world. Awkwardness.

Bruce Wayne was one of the most socially awkward bastards the world had ever seen.

Tim pinched the bridge of his nose, breathing slowly and trying to resist the urge to flip the serving bowl of potage onto Jason’s lap.

“God, why’d you have to _say_ it Jason.” 

Tim let every ounce of his annoyance leak into his voice, eyes narrowing on where the other boy’s lips curved into a wider smile.

On one hand, Tim had literally never seen Jason this happy. On the other, he hated the fact that _he_ was the source of it.

“Tim,” Bruce began, one of his hands pulling at the tie around his neck like it was a noose. “If your mother had-”

Bruce didn’t make it through the rest of the sentence before Dick started making ‘abort’ motions with his hands.

“Yeah I’m just gunna stop you right there before you try and blame something on my now _deceased_ mother.” Tim added, brows raising at Bruce who’s lips slowly closed shut.

Playing the dead mom card. It never failed.

Jason began happily piling mashed potatoes onto his plate.

“I don’t see why you’re all tiptoeing around this.” Tim continued and pointedly ignoring that for the last week that had been exactly what he’d been doing. But right now he had the best cards at the table and like fuck was he going to dismiss that.

If he played it right, it’ll be like that news story never happened.

“I mean it’s not like this really changes anything.” Tim steamrolled on, trying to dismiss the air of disbelief around the room. “I double checked with my family lawyers, my dad made sure to use specific language in his will so it’s not like i’ll lose the inheritance my grandparents left me.”

Which really was all that news anchor talked about towards the end when Tim mustered up the chops to watch through the rest of it with Ives. Trust fund baby Timothy Drake, whose fortune survived the collapse of his father’s company. Was he still entitled to it? Apparently some hack lawyer had been brought in to offer his own opinion, but Tim had mostly tuned out by the time that rolled around. 

On top of the liquidated shares that went to Tim’s dad and the funds sitting in an account at Gotham National Bank- it was his Grandmother’s material goods that a lot of Gotham’s inner circle was really itching to know about. Apparently she’d been quite the collector, a trait she shared with Tim’s dad. A whole bunch of Birkins, fur coats, paintings, jewelry, and antiques were what waited for him upon adulthood. 

Really it was only the old ass comic books she had stored away somewhere in a safety deposit box at one of the Gotham Banks that Tim really cared about. The rest he would be putting up on the annual Wayne charity auction as soon as he turned eighteen.

That is if Catwoman didn’t get to it first. Apparently she’d been eyeing his Grandmother’s Persian coin jewelry for years.

A patient woman that Selina Kyle.

“...Jack knew?”

Tim glanced up. Bruce’s neck muscles were tensed, his expression the closest thing to tight that Tim had ever seen.

“Jack used specific language in his will. He knew?”

“Well...yeah.” Tim began slowly. “I mean...it was kind of obvious.”

“Obvious.” Bruce said blankly.

Okay maybe that hadn’t been the best choice of words to use with the world's greatest detective.

“Well...I mean you know dad didn’t like you, right?” Tim asked, curious. “He pointed a gun at you the first time you met.”

“He did _what_?” Dick asked, aghast. His blue eyes were widened, mouth falling slack as he stared between Tim and Bruce like an intense game of ping pong was going on between them.

“He was angry that you were Robin.” Bruce replied, mouth turned down slightly.

“He was angry that it was _you_ .” Tim countered. “You fucked the man’s wife Bruce, you can’t expect him to have _liked_ you.”

Bruce shifted uncomfortably, back tensing as Alfred came up behind him to refill his cup for the third time in the last half hour. As Alfred’s hand crossed in front of him, Tim could see Bruce’s hands twitch against his cutlery. 

Oh.

Okay.

Apparently the last week hadn’t been any kinder on Bruce. Not that Tim had expected it to be. Because ‘Homewrecker Wayne’ was still trending the last Tim checked. Apparently he’d been getting no reprieve from home and definitely not from Alfred if Tim was reading the stern line of the man’s brow right.

Bruce has only rarely ever gotten scolded by Alfred, much less made him angry. But Alfred was a gentleman through and through, the finest kind if Tim ever got a say. Suffice to say, Tim’s pretty sure that Alfred wasn’t particularly happy to hear that his ward shacked up with a married woman, his married neighbor nonetheless. Oh Tim could just imagine that conversation.

_‘Master Wayne, have you no sense of propriety?’_

_‘A married woman, Master Wayne? Honestly. Have you no regard for fidelity?’_

Still maybe Tim could have at least been a little nicer about it. Bruce looked like he’d been holding a sour lemon in his mouth through the entire dinner. To be fair he’d probably gotten a load of information dumped on him. Tim could remember his weather storm of emotions upon having the lightbulb go off in his head. For the first few weeks his thoughts of the other man hadn’t been particularly favorable. Just a whirlwind of confusion, hurt, and betrayal at the hands of someone he’d never seen outside of the society pages.

When that was gone, replaced by the reverence of Batman. Tim had been...good. That was the only way he could put it. He’d been good. 

Timothy Jackson Drake was the son of Jack and Janet Drake. That was something Tim was certain of.

So it didn’t matter whatever tall tale, pay-per-view drama the Gotham reporters were trying to spin by posting side by side profile pictures of half-blind elementary him and a baby face Bruce Wayne on the evening news. 

Tim knew where he stood. He was Batman’s partner, his equal. Timothy Drake and Bruce Wayne were friends. For a moment they’d been father and son in the eyes of the law, and now probably in the eyes of the public. 

But Bruce had never needed him to be a son. Tim hadn’t come into his life looking to be one either. He’d just wanted to help. The only thing Tim had ever wanted to do was help Bruce, no matter how infuriating the other man could be.

Bruce was sitting as stiff as a corpse in his seat, fists clenched on the table as he worked his jaw to bring out something to say. 

Tim could just imagine his position. Wondering whether to reach out or leave as is. To speak or listen to Tim. It didn’t help that the rest of the family had been imparting their own opinion. Dick’s hennish clucking to soothe over egos and tension. Jason’s desire to see them beat the shit out of each other. Damian’s…

Well whatever it was Damian was trying to do. Blood son this and blood son that. Honestly, Tim had been expecting to wake up one day with a bounty on his head if not courtesy of the other boy then courtesy of Talia. Because Tim doubted that the woman was very happy to have whatever plan she’d brewed up be trampled on by Tim’s birth order.

But that didn’t change the fact that this all changed nothing, something no one in the manor or Gotham seemed to fundamentally understand- yet it was something Tim understood as an overly curious eight-year old.

“This doesn’t change anything, Bruce.” Tim offered as carefully as he could, intonation clear of any lilt that could be interpreted as accusation. 

Bruce’s eyes still shined with a brief flash of what Tim could only interpret as hurt.

“Just think about it,” Tim urged. “You and I aren’t going to go out and get matching shirts and catch the game, or spend the day out fishing on the lake.”

Bruce’s brows furrowed. Tim kept going.

“We’ve literally never been like that and if you did try to pull that I’d probably suspect mind-control.”

The flash of hurt returned.

“My parents didn’t have a conspiracy against you.” Tim hurriedly added. “All the things they did, it had nothing to do with you and everything to do with the fact that they didn’t want to lose me.”

Because Tim had sat through the collection of ‘evidence’ the so called investigators of GNN dug up. Most of it was ‘ohhh look at thisss, the Drakes got rid of every nanny they ever had’, ‘oh look at this photo of Timothy in elementary school and Bruce when he was the same age’. They even used the same photo Tim saw of Bruce at his parent’s funeral all those years ago, which Tim personally thought was in poor taste.

“I like you just fine Bruce. What I’m trying to say is,” Tim paused, trying to mentally work out exactly how Bruce would take his words, “just don’t expect me to start calling you dad right away”

 _‘Or ever’_ He silently added.

Dana hadn’t been hurt when Tim had delivered the same words to her, because she’d understood. Stepmother or not Tim had already had a mother. Bruce, father or not, Tim had already had a father. That hole had been punched and Bruce had never once tried to step over that boundary, not with Tim or any of his other Robins.

Because sometimes learning new information didn’t necessarily mean that you had to reassess. Sometimes new information was just information that was new.

“Is that...okay?”

Bruce was a detective too, he had too see that shifting around pieces and relationships didn’t lead to an immediate or long term benefit. It just made things that remained exactly the same that much more complicated to maintain.

Had this been a brand new revelation to Tim, oh for sure he would’ve decked Bruce in a blind fit of passion (and Tim is pretty sure Bruce had been half-expecting him to when he’d met him at the door). But Tim had already had years to work through and settle his own feelings about everything.

Bruce hadn’t.

For a moment Bruce is silent, body still and quiet like the rest of the room, eyes refusing to meet any of the probing and curious gazes locked onto him. Bruce’s lips pursed, his eyes flickering with a familiar intelligence.

“Tim,” he began, “I-I do have to apologize to you.”

Tim frowned in confusion. He’s pretty sure Bruce’s PR had done enough apologizing for him to fill a lifetime. Tim’s team had been the ones waiting on the wings, expecting to pick up the fallout from his mess- Bruce’s team was completely blindsided.

“Your mother,” Bruce continued awkwardly, eyes briefly meeting Tim’s. “It...I did not mean to overstep myself with her...to the extent that I did.”

Tim cringed, oh god this was the one conversation he’d really wanted to avoid. All the focus was on Bruce and Tim the entire week, and thankfully no one had really wanted to bring Janet into it. Speaking ill of the dead and all that.

And also because Tim had a lot of unresolved...stuff still lingering on that.

“Mom…” Tim trailed off because _his mom_ , god where did he even begin to start with her. “Mom had a lot of stuff going on...and she didn’t always make the best choices for herself.”

A lot of the time when Janet ‘had a fit’ or ‘acted out’ as Jack had put it so many times- the reparations from the fallout always tasted a little too much like bribes. Janet would grow too exuberant, waking Tim up in the middle of the night and spinning tales of taking him to Metropolis to meet Superman, or a late-night trip to Amusement Mile, or a fun family trip to the circus.

When that happened Jack would have them booked to another country within days, after which Tim wouldn’t see them for weeks. In their place would be gifts like a new TV for his room and pocket money for when he went back to boarding school.

It didn’t take Tim long to figure out that his mom wasn’t always _there_. Even while physically present. Family outings always felt like Jack was the parent herding two children. More than once Tim had seen his mother have to get pulled out of the arms of a stranger she’d become suddenly enamoured with.

Didn’t take a genius to figure out how she and Bruce had wormed their way into a bed.

Sometimes Tim wondered if all those vacations his parents took were just a way for Jack to be able to keep an eye on Janet without the possible fallout it would have in Gotham. A job like that would’ve worn anyone out. But it’s not like Tim would ever be able to ask them about it. All he really had were deductions, memories, and all his accumulated observations.

Bruce’s eyes still shone with a light of disagreement, his mouth still twitched in denial at Tim’s words. Yeah Tim could see that. 

Jack hadn’t seemed to ever have held Tim’s birth against Janet either- he’d loved Tim with the exact same steadiness he’d loved Dana and at one point his mother as well.

Tenderly, Tim couldn’t stop the tiny quirk of his lips as he swirled the milk in his cup.

“Boooo!” Jason suddenly burst, hands cupped over his mouth. 

Tim jumped in surprise, knocking his cast against the leg of his chair.

“I came here to watch Bruce get his shit rocked by a twink in Hermés but this is bullshit, I want my money back!”

“Ugh, _fuck off_ Jason!” Tim grouched, teeth clenched and bared like an animal to the older boy.

Jason flicked a spoon of mashed potatoes at Tim.

“ _Fuck off?_ ” Jason asked, voice pitched to a high note like he was trying to mimic Tim’s voice. “I’m on the grind baby bird! What am I supposed to say to my livestream now? Some of us had money riding on how many teeth you were going to knock out ya know.”

Almost immediately Bruce’s tension disappeared, replaced by bone deep weariness as he glared at Jason.

“How many times have I told you to stop using our family dinners as a gambling ring?”

“Oooooo what are you gunna do, fuck my mom?”

Bruce immediately laid his head into his hands. Tim felt very much the same, there was literally nothing Bruce could say against that. Tim had just inadvertently given Jason a lifetime supply of lecture ending ammo.

“Drake!” Damian yelled from the end of the table. “I have yet to receive my potage!”

“The bowl is _right frickin there_ you brat!” Tim yelled back, arms outstretched to point at the bowl in the center of the table. “Do you want me to hobble over and serve it to you myself?!”

Damian scoffed, the sound entirely nasal as he made no move to bring the bowl closer to himself.

“By doing so you would at least be making yourself _useful_ for the first time in weeks.”

“My _ankle_ is broken you little shit!” Tim cried, bending his knee and doing his best to slam his cast on the table without knocking over his water.

“Master Timothy, please no limbs on the table.”

**Author's Note:**

> i love these kinda fics because for me if bruce was tim’s bio dad i honestly don’t think much would change. Bruce already kind of saw tim as his son the more he got to know him- the only thing that would happen would him suffering through the aNGsT of figuring out what to do and bc alfred would tear him a new one because he’s a gentleman.
> 
> As for tim’s parents- i was always so fascinated with their relationship. There’s fics a many about how jack and janet were basically trash parents for abandoning their son so often and i mean yea i agree. But tim presumably loved them, when his dad married dana they became more open with each other they started actually becoming father and son, and tim was devastated at his death to the point that he actively plotted revenge against the person responsible. Jack drakes last words to bruce were him asking bruce to keep his boy safe and his last words to tim were repeated assurances that he loved him, his mother loved him, that what he did was worth it, and to tell bruce to take care of him.  
> Janet material is rarer than a blue moon but tim had cared about her, enough to feel uncomfortable about immediately jumping to calling dana mom. On that note janet is the one that had to do with the ‘implied mental illness’ and ‘untreated mental illness’ tag the full extent of which probably wasn’t witnessed by tim thanks to his father but tim saw enough to know that his mother wasn’t fully sound. At best jack babied her and at worst let her go untreated despite likely being a prime witness to how unwell she was. Her moments of social inappropriateness which tim witnessed firsthand were likely what led to tims conception and also something that bruce probably saw as well. But a bad night, bad week as batman who was just starting out was probably enough for him to just not care hence his desire to apologize to tim for what they both probably viewed as him taking advantage of janet, who in a more stable mental state, may not have engaged with him.
> 
> Also another thing about tim was that he went to A LOT of schools. There was brentwood, gotham heights where he met sebastian ives, louis e. grieve where he met bernard dowd, gotham city highschool which was the last place he attended before dropping out i think. Gotham academy was where bruce was expelled from and roxbury fielding was where he went after- i imagine tims parents wouldn’t have wanted him to go because what if some professor saw him and thought he looked similar to another student they had decades earlier and connected the dots. I mean tim had to get his smarts from somewhere and he’s really a case of nature vs nurture with how similar he is to bruce.


End file.
